The Detective, The Doctor and The Ameture
by Enlightened Apostle
Summary: Sherlock Holmes had always thought he was the smartest man in London, save for his older brother and Arch enemy Mycroft, but when a man with an unexpectedly tricky case walks into 221B, Holmes realizes his intelligence may have been matched once again. - Post His Last Vow- I will try to update this story weekly. Currently have three planned Plot Arcs. No romance. None. Ew. No


221 Baker Street. Home to Sherlock Holmes and his landlady Mrs. Hudson. The former of the two residing in the upstairs apartment '221 B' and the latter in the downstairs apartment '221 A'. This was the flat that I found myself observing on a harshly cold February morning, as usual my mind racing at speeds an average human would scarcely comprehend. It was not often that I needed help with a puzzle, yet when I did I would only seek assistance from the best of the best. In recent years it seemed that Sherlock Holmes was indeed 'the best'. It was that simple fact alone that had led me to this door, that simple fact and all the not so simple ones behind it. Two boys that go missing in Nineteen Seventy Five, a poet named Manfred Dark that seemingly no one had heard of; Scholars and students alike. Inextricably linked to a woman who lived in the suburbs of London itself. A mystery harder than any I had faced myself, and I needed help.

The knocker was rough under my hands; heavy, old and cracked from years of use. Immediately after letting the knocker fall back to the wood of the door I heard movement from within. From sound alone I could tell that he was relatively short, the way he clomped down the stairs giving the impression that he was either heavy set or very tired, given that it was only nine in the morning my mind leaned to the latter of the two deductions. as the door opened I allowed a small smirk of a smile grace my features, the door opening to reveal the disgruntled face of Dr. John Watson.

"Hello?" He asked shortly, narrowing his eyes at me. Obviously annoyed at having his rest impeded by such an early visitor on a Saturday morning. "I take it you're here to see Sherlock Holmes?" He continued, stepping back to allow me entry.

"Astute observation." I nodded in response, "I'm Daniel Roberts, and I need the assistance of Sherlock Holmes," I ended off, my grin growing wider slightly.

"You look different from most of our clients," Watson stated, his eyes scanning me warily. I knew what he meant of course, I imagined that most of the people that came to Sherlock Holmes for advice would do so with petty problems in mind. Someone cheating on someone else, someone looking for help in finding a partner, missing items or a death. In all cases someone that would look considerably glum, I on the other hand did not look glum at all.

"That would be because I am not like most of your clients, Dr. Watson," I retorted, "I came here with a purpose, not some petty quandary about a relationship issue. I am sure that the great detective will be incredibly interested in what I have to say."

John nodded slowly, trying to parse what I had said in such a rapid fire way. "Right," he eventually murmured, "I'll take you up."

The stairs were old and wooden, showing the age of the house with the creaks that they made under the combined weight of myself and Dr. Watson. John reached the top of the stairs first, indicating to the door on his right which he stood by dutifully. I flashed him another smile before turning to the door. This was it, the big moment that I had been waiting for. Whether the great Sherlock Holmes would help me in my quest to find the missing poem, to forge the link between these three separate places and events. Of course it was not his average case, but, it would be a challenge, and if my thoughts held true there was nothing that Sherlock could not resist but a challenge. The door opened silently, gliding as if it had been oiled recently, an action that would happen at least once a month. As said door opened, the sound of violin music could be heard, the strings playing in a beautiful arrangement that only a skilled musician could tempt out of an instrument. The origin of this music could be seen in the form of a man standing by a window at the far end of the room, a window that directly overlooked the front of the house. Sherlock had seen me coming then, seen me knock on the door and more than likely heard the greeting between myself and Dr. Watson. In which case he would have already been able to deduct a great deal about my person.

"Sherlock, we have a client." Dr. Watson said, stepping into the room behind me and closing the door. The music stopped immediately, Sherlock placing the instrument and string carefully next to the music stand that was beside him.

"Yes, I can see that John." Sherlock stated, turning on the spot and moving over to an armchair that was placed next to the fireplace in one smooth movement. "Please do take a seat," he said, clasping his hands together and resting his chin on his finger tips, nodding toward a sofa that was pushed up against the back wall. I did as instructed, striding over to the sofa with confidence and perching myself on the edge of it, aware of Sherlocks cold, analytic eyes scanning my person as I did so. Trying to build up an arsenal of information to preempt what I had to say.

"Go, tell me about your problem. Do try not to be boring." Sherlock stated as I returned his gaze with an equally cool look of my own. He was not the only one in the room who could analyse someone at a glance. Immediately I noticed the bags under his eyes, a sign that he had not slept until very recently; meaning he had been on an extremely strenuous case. He had been playing a melodic tune as I had entered the room, one with undertones of sadness and emotion that the man playing would never be able to show himself. The room did not smell of tobacco, yet, there was a hint of something in his eyes that betrayed his dependence on nicotine. Those same eyes that had focused on me and shown the intellect behind them. I allowed the smirk to settle across my lips once again. He would not refuse my request.

"Two boys go missing in Nineteen Seventy Five," I begin, sherlock sinking back into his chair slightly as I began to recite my tale, just the fact that he has not stopped me and already deduced my coming words were a good sign. He was already interested. "The bodies were never found. On the crime scene a note with the name 'Manfred Dark' was written, along with the year Eighteen thirty eight and the phrase 'The Beast in me'. This is all linked to a woman who lives on the outskirts of London, the borough of Hillingdon to be precise. She writes poetry and has often written many things involving the supernatural. This woman also spoke of supposedly seeing the boys by the Grand Union canal, they were supposedly being led by a man in a large black coat. She later dismissed this, claiming that she had merely seen apparitions. I want to find the boys killer, I fear it to be involved in something much larger. Something that may shake this world to its foundations." I finished off, my face remaining completely neutral.

Sherlock had his eyes closed, his face leaning forward more into his fingertips as he considered all of the information that I had given him, John Watson leaning back against the wall he was stood by. My smile widened, Sherlock would take the case just as I had expected, it had almost been too easy to convince him.

"We'll take the case," Sherlock said nodding to himself, standing up instantly, "now if you would please excuse us, we can get started."

I did of course know that Sherlock would ask this me to do this, however, there was no way that I was going to allow him to get me to vacate the room, or to segment me out of this case. I had brought the case to him, I had worked on it for the better part of a year. It was mine, and although I had asked for his help I would not allow him to steal it from me in the slightest. Not only this, but with the both of us there it would be infinitely easier for the case to be solved. I may not have been as clever as the famous detective, but, I could most definitely deduce things to a near perfect degree and having worked on the subject at hand for so long I would have information that he did not currently posses, no doubt he would work it out eventually; this would just be much easier.

"I'm afraid I am going to have to decline that request, Mr. Holmes." I stated, Sherlocks eyebrows raised slightly at my blatant refusal to leave his place of residence, his seriousness given away by the almost unnoticeable quirk of a smile that was threatening to tug at the corner of his mouth. He knew that I would ask to help with the case, he saw that from the moment he spied me from the window. This much I was certain of.

"Would you like me to call the police to have you forcibly removed?" Sherlock asked, "I have a hotline straight through to Scotland Yard of course."

"You wouldn't do that." I stated, suppressing a chuckle at the game Sherlock was carefully dragging me into. "You know what I can do, you knew the moment I walked through the door."

"I have no idea what you mean." Sherlock retorted, his eyes narrowing in fake anger. I let out a small, defeated sigh.

"Would you like me to 'read' yourself, Sherlock, or your friend Dr. John Watson?" I asked, raising my right eyebrow in the statement of a challenge.

"You aren't the first person to come in here claiming to share my boundless intellect,' Sherlock chuckled, "but by all means try to tell me something about John if you feel that the research you did last night before you went to bed." Sherlock said, throwing my challenge back at me. It did not surprise me that Sherlock had others coming to him claiming stories of grandeur and greatness yet then falling flat on my face, it was understandable that he would like some actual show, a display of what I claimed to have. I was disappointed he could not deduce it, unless in fact he had and was only doing all of this for the show of his room mate, so of course I decided to indulge the genius and subsequently pivoted on my seat to face the good doctor.

"No, definitely not. I do not want someone doing that to me," John began, "It's bad enough when you do it Sherlock, but a client for a case, someone I have never met before. I am just not comfortable with it."

"Military man." I began, ignoring Johns protests, "Highly assertive shows that he held a position of power, the way he stands gives away his disciplined training; the mere fact he is with you showing that he has a part of him seeking for danger." I paused for a second as John shuffled uncomfortably under my cool, piercing gaze.

"No, I am not letting another one of you get into my head like this. I am going upstairs to shave I have-"

" A date later on with a colleague of yours at work. She is slightly taller than you with blonde hair and blue eyes, the sort of women you go after quite often. However, it seems to be quite too soon after the scathing dismissal your last girlfriend gave you last night when you went for dinner with her; sorry about that by the way, no man deserves to be publicly humiliated in the middle of a restaurant like that." I concluded, knowing that I could go on, but this would be at the risk of agitating John Watson even further, and as we would be working together for the foreseeable future that would more than likely be the opposite of wise. At my silence John made his move to leave, mumbling slightly about smartass consulting detectives and their equally smartass clients. I chuckled to myself, twisting back around to Sherlock who was looking at me with a pleased smile.

"You can stay," he said, "I suppose it would be nice to have someone around that can keep up for once. I do advise that you visit the Cafe over the road, however, it will be a while before either I or John are prepared to start research or discussion on the case. Dr. Watson takes an unbelievably long time in the shower, so long that sometimes even I do not know what he is doing in there." Sherlock chuckled, causing my own smile to widen. From the reports I had read and the entries on Dr. Watsons blog I had been expecting a cold, cruel and unfeeling man. What I was confronted by, although not the opposite, was not as heartless as I had been led to believe, his wit and sharp tongue making up for whatever stunted emotional range he may have.

"Very well Mr. Holmes," I began, standing and moving toward the door, "I shall expect to see you at your earliest convenience."

"Please," Sherlock started, "Call me Sherlock, you can save 'Mr. Holmes' for my brother if you ever have the displeasure of meeting his acquaintance. I chuckled lightly, shaking my head as I shut the door behind me. I had gotten exactly what I had wanted from this encounter, now it was only a matter of time before the case of Manfred Dark and the Two Lost Boys came to its conclusion.

_**AN**_

_**So then, how do we feel so far about the story line? The characters? How have I portrayed them? This is your chance prized reader so please do tell how much joy, or in fact displeasure, you have had from reading the beginning of this story. At the moment I have three potential story arcs to go into this story, and then I will leave you all waiting for two years for the next 'series'. Hope to update once a week, but, since this is the beginning I might be nice and give you something on Monday. Please do leave a review. Goodbye for now!**_

_**Enlightened Apostle.**_


End file.
